Ride the Lightning: Epilogue
by jtm1848
Summary: A tag line to the Xindi story.


– EPILOGUE –

_The explosions ripped around him, thunderous and punishing as his atoms were pummeled into fragments. His body flew apart, no longer coherent, no longer existing; he imagined, rather than felt, the pain of being torn apart at a quantum level. The noise manifested itself in powerful waves, and the heat—it burned, the heat of a thousand suns, blinking his corporeal existence into nothingness. The universe closed around him, dark and hot, until he was no longer aware of anything._

_Weeks, seconds, days—time was meaningless. Eons may have passed; nanoseconds may have stretched into infinity. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to resurface, his consciousness pushing upwards against the enveloping darkness, striving outward in the futile hope of reaching something, anything, familiar, any trace of the existence he had once known._

_A faint light appeared, far off from his mind, twinkling like a far-off star hidden on a cloudy night. He focused on it, stretched his willpower towards it. It blinked out, then reappeared; and he pushed his mind forward, concentrating himself on the one symbol of being amidst the sea of emptiness._

_The light grew before him, reaching its rays towards his eager mind, enticing him inwards with its promise of warmth and clarity. It began to fill his awareness, the blackness fading into hues of gray about him as the pure light grew until it pervaded him, stretching its tentacles into every aspect of his being._

_The world around him began to take form. He knew it was merely a construct in his mind; but the familiar shapes of length, width, and depth soothed his distressed thoughts. He blinked, the artifact of his eyes materializing as an outgrowth of his mind; he could stretch out his hands, wiggle his fingers, kick his legs. Where once he had been suspended in blackness, he was now suspended, floating, in a white haze; like the inside of a cloud, it surrounded him with wispy tendrils._

_He saw movement in the fog. A being floated forward, seeming to need no effort to navigate the white void. It, to, had affected an artificial construct in his mind; he saw before him two legs, two arms, a torso and a head—unless he was mistaken, a human head._

_"Welcome," the being said in a booming, tenor voice. It held out its arms in friendliness._

_He eyed the being warily. "Where am I?" he asked, unwilling to trust the display of openness. "Am I dead?"_

_The being chuckled. "Does this look like heaven or hell to you, Jonathan?" the being replied with a warm grin. "Consider this—somewhere in between your world and the next."_

_"If you're telling me I'm in purgatory, I'm not buying it," Archer answered cautiously. _

_The being smiled again. "I would suggest simply accepting it as what is," it said soothingly. "Understanding takes far more than you're ready for."_

_"Then why am I here?"_

_"Do you know how many sentient races there are in the Universe, Jonathan?" the being asked, the grin evaporating into a faint smile. "You humans were one of millions of lower, sentient beings, no more remarkable than, say, the Krylaxa or the Gh'hi-cha." The latter came out as a gurgled tone. "Doomed to a life in—forgive the pun, Jonathan—existential purgatory, a race that was doomed to never stepping beyond its own limitations. It's an old, familiar story, Jonathan, bitterly ironic: those who prioritize survival above all else inevitably ensure their own demise. Not one species in a million manages to surpass your human adage of 'those who live by the sword, die by the sword.'"_

_Archer looked at the being carefully, but said nothing._

_"We—myself and my kind—had consigned your human race to the dustbin. You showed no signs of progress: your history is marked by your own ability to bring about death and destruction. Sure, from time to time, a figure would emerge, preaching hope and peace, new ways of living, but what happened?" The being's voice became faintly mocking. "One blow, and your people would resort to warfare, forgetting the same lessons of those they claim to venerate."_

_"What's your point?" Archer asked brusquely._

_"We were shocked when humans stumbled out of your Final World War still alive. Well, 'alive' may be stretching it in the grander sense, but your physical existence continued. A couple of us took note, but the others felt it to be inconsequential: for space is an exceedingly dangerous place. You were bound to get your nose bloodied."_

_"The Xindi attack," Archer observed cautiously._

_"And your first reaction was the same as always—to fight back, destroy them. To continue the same cycle of hatred and violence. The way you've always done before."_

_"Maybe not our proudest moment," Archer replied quietly. "But we moved past that need for vengeance."_

_"Yes, you did," the being said crossly. "And thus we brought you here."_

_"If you have a point to make, please it make it," Archer retorted._

_"Patience, Jonathan, patience." The being smiled again. "As I said, only one species in a million manages to overcome its limits. Humanity has never shown any indication that it may be that one in a million—until now. Your actions, Jonathan, show that your people have the potential."_

_"If that's the case," Archer said, his tolerance waning, "why did you bring me here? Just to tell me that?"_

_"No, Jonathan," the being replied. "I brought you here out of pure and simple curiosity. You're still alive; after I ask a few questions, I intend to return you to safety."_

_"Why would you return me?"_

_"I'm curious to see what you'll do next," the being answered simply. "You've shown potential, and I want to see where it will take you. But before we end this pleasant conversation, I want to know something: why did you forgo vengeance, Jonathan? Why did you look beyond your primal fears? Why, Jonathan, did you do what you did?"_


End file.
